Blood Red Dawn
by kalisidhe
Summary: After the war, without the Mockingjay, a new death sentence is used - criminals fight to the death to win their freedom. When 17 year old thief Aušra Kazlauskien is sent to the Compound for the murder of her only ally, she faces life or death stakes. There's just one problem... a certain gladiator and son of the Mockingjay. *my first ever fanfic, please read*
1. Prologue: If I Die Young

# If I Die Young #  
# "If I die young, bury me in satin Lay me down on a bed of roses Sink me in the river at dawn Send me away with the words of a love song." #  
"If I die young, bury me in satin Lay me down on a bed of roses Sink me in the river at dawn Send me away with the words of a love song."

We stand at the edge of the world and my revolver pushes into his hair as the moment freezes around us.

No sighs, no tears, no words. The only sounds in the world right now is my ragged breathing and his steady heart beat. I can still see, despite the intensity that blur my vision, but there is nothing to see, only his dark hair and the tattered remnants of his patterned coat. I cannot see it - but I know that his hand still holds his hat, that old battered beribboned top hat that we bought in a market with the money earned from petty theft and minor crimes.  
"You do what you have to do, Sabi," he says, and his voice is like an ice sword piercing my heart. "You do it, whatever it is." He sounds so calm, I wonder if he knows what has led me here - why I am about to do this. I barely know myself. But there is that break at the end of the sentence and the way that he stands, trying to gather himself.

I wish my hand would shake. Would give me a way out. I can't say anything.

I wish I could say something to him. Am I sorry for what I'm going to do? I don't think so. A scar for a scar, an eye for an eye, a life for a life.

I silently will my hand to shake.

But it is completely still, and the frozen moment has thawed and time is slipping by like water in a stream. Whatever precious seconds we had left, they are gone now, and that is when I pull the trigger.

The sound echoes around the silent woods as he jerks, stiffens and collapses, his dark curls slowly matting with thick blood. Silence all around. The forest has fallen silent. I stare straight ahead and lower my gun. I can't bear to look at his face.

I throw the corpse in the river and allow the current to carry him away as the rising sun bleeds red light across the crystal water. I still have his coat, and his hat, and I sling one over my shoulder and the other onto my head. Taking my revolver in one hand, and my backpack, freshly packed with his supplies, in the other, I throw a last look at his campfire, and then I walk away. 


	2. Chapter 1: coughing up blood

# coughing up blood #  
"A broken back with a heart of gold,  
The legend of a martyr with no soul.  
I'll cough up blood to clear my lungs.  
Sinking to the depths. Dragging me to the ocean's floor. With broken wings."

The festival was referred to as the Dawning, and the colours could be seen for miles around. My pale blue hair blended in more than it ever had before, amongst the sea of bright hair styles and costumes and puppets that swarmed the streets. The first day of the Dawning - today - it was always a celebration of the end Dark Days, a rememberance for the Rebellion and a tribute to the memory of the Mockingjay - Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, the last tribute.

I stood at the edge of the street, surrounded by Pronvincial people wearing costumes and fancy-dress. My stolen top hat and coat did well enough to blend into the crowd as the actors in their costumes passed.

It was a Panem-wide celebration, and in every Province, every City, every Area, there was a parade and a festival just like this one, where actors dressed up as key figures from the Rebellion and the Dark Days and acted out some of the scenes I remembered from my childhood. As I watched, the girl nearest to me seemed to burst into flame. She raised her arms theatrically as her ivory dress darkened, blackened, until she wore the fabled mockingjay dress. She did not look much like the Mockingjay I remembered from history books - this girl was small and pale, blonde and petite, and her smile was she danced her way along the street. The crowds watching burst into fevered applause and were swept along with the parade - it wasn't a matter of watching the festivities, you were always pulled into them.

Day One was a celebration of freedom. Day Two was a day of mourning for the dead. Day Three was the grand ball to celebrate the rebel's victory over the tyrannical Capitol. And Day Four onwards were the beginnings of the executions - criminals forced to fight to the death as punishment for their crimes. During the Dawning, the fights went on nearly twenty-four seven, and criminals were killed, released and replaced like clockwork.  
There was no shortage of criminals during the Dawning.

And that reminded me of my own purpose as I dodged a grinning Abernathy mask and wound my way between two Trinket impersonators. The backpack was heavy in my hands as I left the festivities and walked quickly down the back alley, towards the only shop still open during the Dawning.

Ilan Odair was waiting for me by the window of his tiny apartment shop, looking out onto the festivities. I wondered how he felt about seeing his dead father's image in such a way. Then I realized I didn't really care.

I dropped my bag on the table and cleared my throat. He turned.

"Ausra," he said. "To what do I owe the visit?"

I indicated the bag and folded my arms. "Ten pounds," I said. "And I want thag bounty." I lifted the top hat off my head and twirled it in front of him. He frowned.

"Do you have any proof that he's dead?"

"That's his stuff. This is his hat. This is his coat."

"So the answer is no."

"He loved this hat. You know that."

"It's not proof. You should have brought back the corpse."

"And let you do what to it?" I snapped. "Yes, I know what you do in that back room of yours. I dumped the corpse river. It'll probably show up in a week or two, down in Sector 7."

"Then in a week or two," Ilan said. "You can have your money. What is it - sixteen kian for the stuff?" He indicated the bag.

"I need the rest of the money now."

"Too bad."

I stared at him, feeling my blood begin to boil. "I killed my best friend for that money. The wardens are still looking for me."

He shrugged. "And if you're lucky, the wardens won't catch you until after the Dawning. I recommend you run like you always do, Ausra. I hear Province 11, Sector 5 is very nice this time of year."

He stood; picked up the bag, and dropped a handful of coins onto the table. "Many thanks, Kazlauskien," he said. "You should probably go and enjoy the festivities now." He smiled. "They'll be bringing out the fighters now."


End file.
